Catch Me If I Fall
by phoenixreal
Summary: AU: Established Johnlock. Shortly after Sherlock starts helping at the Yard, an accident traps him and Anderson together and Sherlock's badly concussed, meaning Anderson has to keep him talking. He finds out that the freak is human after all, and that the man who saved him will do so yet again. Implied past non-con, drug use, suicide attempt, nothing explicit. Oneshot.


**Catch Me If I Fall**

-_A Johnlock Oneshot-_

* * *

Sherlock was annoyed. Of course, when was he not annoyed with the people from the Yard? He stood beside the window and took in the place. He'd managed successfully to shoo everyone out except Lestrade, who was leaning back against the other window. Anderson was sulking just outside the door, he was well aware. He knew he was probably making rude comments about him with Sally Donovan. This was growing annoying though. So simple!

Of course, perhaps it was the fact that _he _was supposed to have been home two weeks ago, and Sherlock was just in a general bad mood since then. He tended to take it out on those around him. He really tried to hold his tongue most days, but since he'd learned he'd have to wait another week, maybe two…well he was truly in a foul mood today.

"For godssakes," he muttered. "If it were any more obvious, he would have left a note!" he exclaimed, getting an eye roll from Lestrade.

"So, enlighten me, Sherlock?" he said with a sigh and off he went, Lestrade careful to note his deductions. As rude and anti-social as he was, Lestrade did appreciate the help, though he really wished he'd cut down on the insults. And he'd been especially snarky and rude the last couple weeks. He had no idea why. Granted, Lestrade had only been letting him help him on cases for a couple months now, much to the annoyance of his team.

So, when he walked out the doorway to snark at Anderson, who was already annoyed, the explosion surprised everyone. The entire floor underneath where Sherlock and Anderson were standing gave way with a groan, dropping both men into an until now unknown basement. Anderson had time to utter a yelp, and Sherlock and he were tumbling through the floor, dust and debris poofing out from the area and sending everyone into coughing fits.

"Sherlock! Anderson!" Lestrade called out, making his way to the gaping hole in the floor. He saw nothing but debris everywhere. He started to step forward but his phone rang in his hand.

"Lestrade," he answered, trying to see where the two were.

"Nuh uh, detective inspector. No going down into the basement," came a sing-song voice on the other end.

Lestrade stood up. "What? Who are you?"

"I'm looking for someone, and I figured putting his baby brother in danger was a good way to draw him out," the voice came again.

"What?" Lestrade said, glancing down into the hold. Neither man had family, at least not siblings that he knew of.

"Oh, you don't know?" the voice said. "Oh, I'll call back when he shows up then. He won't let his baby brother be in danger long. But you take one step toward going down there, and I'll blow the whole house down on top of your trapped boys."

The phone went dead and he called over the gap to Donovan. "Sally!"

"Sir?" she called. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

"No, Sherlock and Anderson went through the floor into the basement, some sort of centered explosion that was meant to drop out the floor. I got a phone call, apparently it is someone who wants to draw out one of their brothers?" he said, hoping that she knew something.

"Anderson doesn't have any brothers…I didn't think the freak did either," she said, staring down. "Can we get down there?"

"He said if we did, he'd blow the rest of the house. We can't chance it. I have no idea who he's talking about."

Below them, the basement was less like a basement and more like a small room lined with concrete that the two men fell into. When they fell, debris and boards had fallen over the opening of the room, leaving them alone and completely in the dark.

Sherlock sat up with a groan, realizing that everything ached. He blinked and saw nothing, so he pulled his phone out, hoping that it wasn't damaged. A little light lit up the absolutely tiny space they were in. It was perhaps ten by ten feet, completely empty and blank. Above them, boards, wood, and other things were precariously perched.

Anderson sat up and groaned in a similar fashion. He also felt like he'd been dropped through a floor. He glanced at the meager light provided from Sherlock's phone and groaned in annoyance. He could see Sherlock's face pretty clearly, and noted that he looked like he was in pain.

"Okay, signal, signal's good," he said, and dialed something.

Anderson thought he was calling Lestrade. He didn't expect him to call anyone else. He honestly didn't think he had anyone else.

"Mycroft!" he exclaimed, sighing. "I…think I need your help…"

The phone slipped then and clattered. Sherlock looked over and realized his wrist was broken, hence not being able to hold the phone. But the phone was also slick with blood too. His head seemed to be bleeding. Come to think of it, he had quite a nasty headache too… He frowned; picking it up with is other hand and hitting the speaker button. He really didn't want to hold it anyway; his head was spinning a bit. Actually, it was spinning a lot. He was glad he was sitting on the ground.

"Sherlock?" came a voice on the other side as he leaned back against the wall.

"I'm here, I dropped it, broke my wrist…." He said with a sigh.

"Where are you? I'll send a car to pick you up," the voice said and Anderson was surprised.

"Call Lestrade's cell phone, see what's going on, I'm on a crime scene," he said with a huff.

"You're stuck someplace aren't you?" he asked, but Anderson knew it wasn't a question.

"Stop deducing me, dammit," he growled. "Yes, fell through floor, tiny little room, don't have… know much, but I think…I dizzy, Mycroft."

Anderson frowned, and realized that Sherlock's breathing had gotten faster. "I'm already enroute. It seems you're being used to get me out and about, brother dear. Hold fast, I'll sort this quickly, are you alone?"

"No," he ground out slowly. "Anderson, forensics fell with me."

"Good, good, I'm on speaker?" he said.

There was no response, Sherlock had tipped his head backward and was desperately trying to control his breathing and the spots dancing in his vision. "Mr. Anderson?" came the voice.

"Um, yeah?" he said tentatively.

"How badly is my brother hurt?" he asked.

Anderson shook his head and looked. "Broke his wrist in the fall but that's all I can see, but I'm not sure, he hasn't moved since we got down here, but he's acting weird, maybe he hit his head?"

"Okay, I'm attempting to take care of the situation. Please try and keep him conscious if it's a concussion we can't be too careful," the other man said and the phone turned off.

Great, Anderson though. Well, he certainly wasn't going to let anyone, even the freak, die in a hole in the ground.

"Sherlock!" he called, crawling forward to him and shaking his shoulders. He looked at him but his eyes were wide and it seemed like he wasn't looking at him and seeing him.

"Myc?" he asked softly.

"No, he's coming, but it's me, Anderson, remember? We fell through the floor."

"Oh," he said, looking around, surprised. "M'head hurts."

"Yeah, I think you hit it when we fell, can I take a look?" he asked standing and moving over toward him.

"Yeah, sure," he said, eyes fluttering and threatening to close.

"Hey, gotta stay awake, Sherlock, okay?" he said, as he began to check his head and winced when his fingers contacted a bloody spot. That wasn't good, he felt a skull fracture…he'd need treatment soon because of probable swelling on the brain from this.

"Okay, Sherlock, you with me?" he asked again.

His eyes turned toward him but he wasn't quite seeing that Anderson could tell. "Hrm. John?"

"No, Anderson, remember, who's John?" he asked, curious a bit but more than just trying to keep him awake. Sherlock so far had never spoken about anyone during his entrance to the crime scenes.

"M'angel," he muttered, blinking slowly. "Saved me y'know," he said smiling a bit. Anderson didn't know the man could smile.

"Oh, tell me about it," he said, looking through his contacts for Lestrade's name on his own phone.

"Kept me safe," he said softly.

"Lestrade, bloody hell, what's going on?" Anderson said in the phone.

"Working on it, Anderson. Sherlock?" he asked.

"He's got a skull fracture over his left ear, and is increasingly less lucid," he said.

"Keep him talking, we're dealing with the situation…or rather the brother I didn't know Sherlock had is dealing with it. Bloody hell…" he said.

"What's going on?" Anderson asked, patting Sherlock's face to get him to look up at him.

"Ah, yeah, long story, save the phone battery, Anderson." He said and the phone clicked off.

Anderson sighed. Great. "Sherlock!" he called, startling the tall detective.

"John?" he asked again.

"Anderson, remember?" he said.

"Yeah, John's away," he said, frowning. "Sposed ta be back two weeks ago…got held up…"

Anderson shifted to sit beside him because he was listing to the side now. "Oh, why's that?"

"Hum, got shot. Medical kept him longer."

Anderson blinked. Well, that was interesting. "Where'd he get shot, Sherlock?"

There was a long pause. "Shoulder. He's fine, thanks, but I miss him…want him home…"

"Who's John anyway?" Anderson asked finally.

"Who is John…" Sherlock said with a sigh. "John's everything…" he muttered.

"Sherlock, you're not making sense, stay with me, please? Mycroft needs you to stay awake," he said finally, rubbing the bridge of his own nose. Considering that Sherlock had a concussion and a broken wrist from the fall, he was feeling extremely lucky at the moment. "Tell me about meeting John, then," he said finally.

Sherlock frowned then, eyes fluttering. "Oh, that was bad day…bad day…"

Anderson thought he'd stop but he continued. "Was in school, uni…late…at the library. Guy, Caleb kept followin' me. M'kept turnin' him down…didn't wanna listen to me…So was hidin' in the library…dumb idea for a smart person, y'know…"

"Sherlock!" Anderson said loudly as he tried to fall asleep again. He blinked wearily.

"M'tired, can't I sleep?" he muttered.

"No, gotta stay awake. You were telling me about meeting John and the Caleb guy that kept following you," he said, frowning.

"Fuckin' Caleb," he muttered and Anderson was a bit surprised. He never cursed. "Came out and he was sittin' there grinning at me, asked why and then I was seeing stars…had a friend, hit me with a flashlight…hurt like hell…"

"No, wake up!" Anderson practically yelled in his ear as he tried to nod off again. "Come on, finish, tell me how you met John!"

Sherlock blinked. "Always got in trouble, no one likes…a freak…like me…" he muttered, his voice dipping dangerously low. "Usta it, though, don't bother me no more, usta, that's true. But I…was always…me…unlike them…always tryin' to be sumthin they weren't ya know," Sherlock started to tip forward until Anderson patted his face. "Hum, but Caleb…I knew from the start…was set on…gettin' me ta go out wit him. Try and try say no…no good. Boom! And I woke up and he was there and said I wasn't gonna say no...not anymore…"

Anderson winced, realizing where this was going quickly and suddenly felt an ache he didn't realize he could have for this man who had done nothing but annoy them from day one. He snorted. "No matter, guess it didn't matter…can't say no when they won't let ya go, can ya?"

His eyes had gone hazy again and threatened to close. "Sherlock, tell me about John, not this," Anderson said, feeling like he was impinging on his privacy like this…taking advantage of him being almost out of his head.

"But this is about John," he said, looking at him seriously. "He saved me, 'member? But gotta get to where he saved me or it don't make sense," he said, blinking thickly. "So anyway, they dumped me out on the campus afterward. I was so…messed up, ya know? So I got to my room, and I took my scalpel and cut open both my wrists," he said, holding up his arms staring at them, then turned and Anderson could see the silvery lines running lengthwise down his arms. "I mean, how could I go on after that…they'd tell everyone…they said…if I told anyone…and I couldn't…I was barely tolerated as it was y'know…" He sighed. "But my roommate, he came back, and brought a friend with him. And I heard them outside the door talking and Mike called for me. And I didn't answer, and I guess the floor was tilted…more'n I thought cuz blood ran out from under tha door, and Mike he broked it off, and there was John, my John, and he was a med student, almost done, a few years older than I was, and he was last thing I saw before I passed out, y'know," he said with a sigh. "That was the first time he saved me. Because I hated him when I woke up…I wanted to die…"

Sherlock slowly slipped to the side until he fell against his broken wrist, causing him to yelp and sit straight up again. "Oh, okay, stay awake," he muttered. "Concussion, swelling in the brain, definite…" he said.

"How'd John save you the second time?" Anderson said with a glance upward. There was no noise above them. That worried him.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't talk to 'em, John or Mike, I left m'dorm, moved in with a friend in a frat, ended up gettin' on heroin. Spent a couple months I don't 'member much…then one day, I woke up to a blond haired doctor slapping me awake. I'd overdosed and was back in the hospital he was interning at. I tol' him it was an accident, but it wasn't. I wanted to die a'gin…why live like that?" Sherlock sighed. "But John, wouldn't take no. He helped me. And it took a long time, but I got through what happened with Caleb and ended up he got arrested b'cuz when I tried to cut m'wrists they got enough evidence that all I had to say was it wasn't con..con..didn't say yes. And I didn't want to do it but John said I had to do it…so I did what John said…and John took me through rehab, and then through all the days afterward…"

Anderson saw the wistful expression on his face and smiled to himself. "That's cool Sherlock, but how'd he get shot?"

Sherlock snarled. "Oh, well, that was Mycroft's fault…damn him fer sendin' m'boyfriend over to Afghanistan for an op'rashun. Shoulda been here wit me…"

Sherlock's phone rang and Anderson answered it on the speaker.

"Hello?" he said hopefully.

"Who's this?" came a new voice and Sherlock sat up.

"John!" he slurred.

"Oh, God Sherlock, you sound bad, Anderson is that it, right?" he asked.

Anderson sighed. "Yeah, that's me, I'm trying to keep him awake, but he's got a skull fracture and I can't see enough down here…"

"Don't worry, we've got the situation sorted, they're coming down to get you both out shortly," John said. "Just a bit longer, they don't want any of the debris coming down on top of you."

It was an agozingly long wait but finally they were pulled up out of the hole in the ground. They were both brought up and a Anderson stood with an orange blanket and watched as Sherlock's body was converged on by two men, one shorter and blond, the other dark haired and carrying an umbrella. The blonde was going over him, as the medics got in himto the ambulance and was barking orders to everyone. They listened to him with no hesitation. As they were getting him ready to go he walked over to where Anderson was standing by Lestrade.

"Anderson, I'm John Watson, and I want to thank you for what you did, you may have saved his life down there, and sorry you got wrapped up in this mess," John said with a sigh.

"Will I ever find out what really was going on?" Anderson asked.

"Afraid not, but just know that it is all sorted now, and I'm off with the bus so I can go with Sherlock. He'll be fine, I think, but I'll stick by him, again. He's used to waking up with me there," he said with a smile and headed off.

Lestrade and Anderson watched them leave as Sally came up. "Wow, you survived a while down there with the freak, who was the blond man?"

Anderson frowned. "John, his boyfriend," he said with a smile. "And I don't think he's so different as we think, you know," he said. "I think he might be a lot more human than we thought he was."

Anderson left two very confused people behind him as he left to his own car. He had a feeling things would be different now. How could he look at Sherlock and forget what he'd said? How could he forget how human he was? And how much love went across his face when he spoke of his John Watson. Was he really the freak? Or were the rest of them for not seeing how human he really was?


End file.
